


The Four Escape Attempts of Lieutenant Maria Ross; or: Secret Armstrong Family Technique

by sister_coyote



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Anime, Drabble Sequence, F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-19
Updated: 2007-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote





	The Four Escape Attempts of Lieutenant Maria Ross; or: Secret Armstrong Family Technique

One:

"Something the matter, Lieutenant?" Major Armstrong asked as Ross slipped to her feet.

"Oh! No. I, uh—needed to go get some coffee."

"There's a pot right here."

"Oh. I—I mean, I'm terrible at making coffee, so I'd better—"

"I would be _delighted_ to make coffee for you," Armstrong said, puffing up to what seemed like twice his original size, improbable as that was. Ross swore that the air glittered around him as he scooped some grounds and breathed a great whiff. "Ahhhh, coffee! Noble beverage, calling the troops to the alert!"

Ross withered.

Two:

Ross's stomach started growling around noon, but she held off until she'd finished her paperwork. "Sir," she said, "excuse me, I'm going to get lunch in the cafeteria—I won't be long—"

Major Armstrong gave the chuckle she was really beginning to dread. "Oh, no," he said, "no member of _my_ staff need go out for lunch."

Her stomach sank, and not just from hunger. "With all due respect, I need—"

"Sustenance! That is why I have prepared a full five-course luncheon for all of you."

Ross had never felt so trapped by prime rib.

Three:

She made her third attempt at just past sixteen hundred hours, when her stapler broke.

"Does there seem to be something wrong with your stapler?" Major Armstrong was already at the side of her desk, mustache bristling with interest, the air sparkling.

"Broken, sir," she said smartly. "I was just going down to the supply closet . . . " She trailed off. Major Armstrong had seized some paper and was folding—and his shirt had somehow burst off—oh, surely not —

Within seconds he produced a fully-functional origami stapler. " . . . Oh," she said, weakly.

"Secret Armstrong family paper-folding technique." He radiated pride.

Four:

Eighteen hundred hours, and she packed up.

Major Armstrong looked up at her, eyebrows raised. "Tired, Lieutenant?" he asked. "You have been here more than ten hours."

"Yes." She felt dread surge in her chest. "—And I am going _home_ to sleep," she continued. "I don't care if you have some secret Armstrong family technique for requiring no sleep, or have made me a four-poster mahogany bed out of pencil shavings. I will be here in the morning. With all due respect." She faded slightly. "Sir."

He looked at her. His shirt had reappeared somehow in the interim. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how.

"Have a good evening, Lieutenant," he said.

Success:

She wasn't ten steps out of the office before a familiar hand tugged her into an empty closet and then she was pinned up against the wall and kissed, firmly and very nicely, too, by Hawkeye. She wound up with one hand on Hawkeye's shoulder and the other messing up her hair.

After a moment they broke for breath, and Hawkeye asked, amused, "What took you so long?"

Ross scrubbed a hand back through her own short hair. "You wouldn't believe me," she said, "if I told you."


End file.
